


Letters from an Amaranthine Wastebin

by Maybethings



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Poetry, Post-Canon, Qunari, Qunlat, Those Who Speak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four letters found in Vigil's Keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters from an Amaranthine Wastebin

**i.**

I heard rumours  
that he was heading north—  
To the rough, wild lands of Antiva  
and its swamps, and its wilds.  
Perhaps he thought chaos would be his cloak;  
that the foxfur collar would lend him swiftness  
and the wolf-bearing shield would lend fresh strength.  
But he did not leave unnoticed.  
He disappears from the middle of the struggle  
Chasing a man who is both past and future.  
Ridiculous, but our ways  
have never been to the contrary in your eyes. 

The queen is unhappy  
and so am I.  
I extend to her the warm teas you send me  
(It’s a sacrifice I make willingly)  
and we drink late into the night.  
(Drink, but never drunk  
on the taste of fought-for cinnamon, the soft redolence of jasmine.)  
Both of us share a fear for the men we love  
in ways whisper-loud and dagger-soft. 

Watch for him.  
I remember the names and words you mentioned:  
Teeth and tongue in a tide. Words that taste of salt.  
Keen-eyed  _ashaad_ , watchful  _arvaarad._  
Kadan, teth a. He comes.  
He is born a hound, relentless,  
and the trail may well lead to your lands. 

Watch for him.  
Look out over Akhaaz:  
high walls, green palms.  
Think of me keeping the watch with you  
and lacing my fingers against your own.  
My eyes do not tire  
looking for you  
Looking for only you. 

**ii.**

Do not die—  
Do not fall.  
You whose braids have grown long with victory,  
do not inflict upon me the mourning cut.  
I beg you, submit not to shining sword  
nor bright shield  
(Nor mage, nor any man  
grey-boned, hook-nosed;  
it must be said for safety’s sake)

This glory is a dragon’s glory:  
Bright, fleeting, flaring,  
gone.

Do what you must  
except to die.  
Death comes so close, too soon.  
I bow this yellow head  
and urge you from Her path.  
not for the heart of any woman  
on your shore  
but selfishly  
for my own. 

**iii.**

If he harms you I will kill him.  
Cold thoughts and hot blood  
sing in my head.  
Not poison, mine, but the honour of thin steel.  
Cut for cut.  
Friend for friend.  
Life for life.  
The last honour I will offer  
will be to let him see my eyes;  
Summer skies and lyrium’s song  
unblinking and without their light. 

I am frail and moonlight-wrought,  
yet my grey is the sole shade you will not turn from.  
If I cannot mourn your end  
I will pay its price in salted earth;  
in rusted sword;  
in shaven head.

Piece of my soul, do not perish.  
This end is not where glory lays your head. 

**iv.**

I love you.  
Be safe.  
Do not die.

It is all I ask of you now  
as I cradle your name where the heart lies.  
It breaks  
and it breaks.

I would hold your head in these arms  
and give you one moment more of shelter  
But the high walls and green palms spurn me;  
you are in a place I cannot see.

I love you.  
Be safe.  
Do not die.

**Author's Note:**

> These missives were found in the year Dragon Age 9:38, crumpled and partially burnt. They were apparently written, but unsent to their final recipient. The author's exact identity is unknown, though it is suspected that the Hero of Ferelden, a certain arl of Amaranthine, had a Qunari lover and was writing to him at the time.
> 
> Allegations of treason were immediately and violently shot down.


End file.
